


Imagine: Spending Thanksgiving with the Winchesters and Castiel, and finding out Cas wants to spend more time with you.

by webcricket



Series: Castiel Imagines [18]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8577817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket





	

You walked into the war room, proudly holding aloft a perfectly golden crusted pie. Sam, Dean, and Cas were chatting away around the map table about some bit of native lore which may or may not have been related to the Thanksgiving holiday you were currently celebrating. Like hunts with the Winchesters, conversation also had a tendency to go a bit sideways with predicable frequency.

“Is that pie?” Dean rose up out of his chair as you approached.

“Astute as ever, Dean.” You set the pie on the table, putting your hands on your hips, standing back to admire your handiwork.

“I knew it!” Dean grinned excitedly.

“When do we give thanks?” Cas beamed at you, bright blue eyes questioning.

Dean continued to ogle the pie, grabbing the edge of the dish and sliding it closer. “Apple? Say it’s apple. It smells like apple.”

You swatted Dean’s hand away, smiling at the angel. “Well Cas, now would be a great time to do exactly that.” You settled back into your chair, kicking Dean’s shin under the table to get his full attention. “Dean, why don’t you start. What are you thankful for?”

Dean sank into his chair, pouting, shoulders slouched.

“Pie. I’m thankful for pie.” Dean gazed longingly at the pie, pressing his lips into a thin line, nodding sadly to himself.

“Sam?” Your focus shifted to the younger Winchester.

Dean fidgeted, trying to get his brother’s attention, desperately mouthing the word, “ _Pie_.”

Sam scowled at his brother, then smiled. “I’m thankful that we are all here today to celebrate the holiday together. And Y/N, you’re a great cook. Thank you for a wonderful meal.”

“Yeah, does anyone else find it a little strange that Y/N is awesome at like everything,” Dean griped. “Are you even human?”

“Aw, thanks Sam.” You grinned, ignoring Dean’s pie-induced whining. Your attention turned to the angel.

Cas smiled softly, glancing in turn to the brothers and you, stating simply, “I’m thankful for each of you and to be part of the family.”

Even Dean ceased his fussing for a moment to acknowledge the sweet sentiment.

All eyes were on you now. You stared down at your plate, inhaling deep. “I’m thankful to be here in the bunker. You’ve welcomed me home. Given me purpose. I didn’t have that for a long time, and it’s good to belong somewhere again.” You felt your eyes begin to burn, quickly sniffling to suppress the tears, laughing it off lightly. “Now let’s have some pie before Dean crawls right out of his skin.”

“Thank Chuck!” Dean collapsed forward onto the table to a chorus of laughter.

Lost in a reverie, you scrubbed a dinner plate for the third time.

Cas paused in the kitchen threshold to observe you, softly murmuring your name to alert you of his presence.

“Oh, hey Cas!” You jumped, startled from your thoughts. “How’s the game?”

He stepped down and strode over to the fridge. “Apparently it requires more beer to render it watchable.” Tugging the door open, he retrieved the drinks.

“Won’t matter in a little while, those boys will be passed out from all that good food.” You grinned over your shoulder at the angel.

“Don’t you want to join?” He moved beside you, tilting his head askance, steadily gazing into your eyes. “I’d like it if you did.”

Your heart raced, the way it did every time he looked at you with that intensity - like he could see right through to your soul. You were terrified he’d perceive how you really felt about him - how much you relied on his friendship, but also how you wished it was more. You held your breath, calming your bounding heart. “Sure, I’ll be there right after I finish up here.” You gripped the edge of the sink, steadying yourself, finally rinsing the thoroughly cleaned dinner plate and setting it aside. You grabbed another plate and began scrubbing furiously, hoping he wouldn’t notice the effect he was having on you.

Cas studied you for a moment before placing the beers on the counter and rolling up his sleeves. He reached across you, gliding his hand down your arm to take the sponge, gently guiding you out of the way as he slid his body between you and the sink. He grabbed one of the beers and offered it to you. “You shouldn’t be cleaning up after cooking all day. I will take care of the dishes.”

You gaped between the beer and his face.

He sternly set his jaw. “I insist. Go, relax. Watch the game.”

You accepted the beer. “Thanks Cas.”

He nodded, turning and leaning into the sink.

You popped off the cap, taking a swig as you studied his muscular back, endeavoring not to let your thoughts wander in such close proximity to the angel.

“Cas?” You swallowed hard.

“Hmm?” He continued washing, stopping to turn around when you failed to respond.

“I’d rather stay here,” you confessed, “with you.”

His expression was unreadable.

You panicked. “I mean, I don’t really like football.” It was half the truth, the other half being that you _did_ really like the angel.

A smile teased across his mouth.

You gulped, forcing yourself to meet his eyes, finding yourself even more freaked out at not knowing how long you’d actually been staring at his lips.

“I’d like that.” He permitted the smile to pull at the corners of his mouth, crinkling into his eyes.

“Okay, good.” You put the bottle to your lips, acting as casual as the butterflies in your stomach would allow under the circumstances. You held the last sip of beer in your mouth, the carbon fizzing on your tongue, dawning realization that in the past few arduously long minutes Cas had twice stated he, specifically, would like to spend time with you.

“Y/N?” his deep voice pulled you out of your head again. “There is something I don’t understand. If my presence makes you so uncomfortable, why do you want to stay?”

You could only blink in response. You couldn’t lie to him, yet you couldn’t speak the truth.

He broke eye contact, chin dropping. “I enjoy your company very much. Sam suggested that I try to spend more time with you alone, outside of hunting. He thought it was something you too would enjoy. I’m sorry if I’ve caused you discomfort.”

You found your hand moving forward, palm pressing to his chest, eyes seeking his.

He moved his hand to cover yours, lifting his eyes to meet your gaze.

“Cas, I’m the one who should be apologizing. You don’t make me uncomfortable. I do that all on my own, call it self-doubt.” You stepped forward, reaching behind him to set down the empty bottle. “I do like spending time with you. Because I like you. A lot. And for some silly reason I didn’t want you to know.”

He clasped your hand tight, sliding it from his chest as he straightened up, narrowing the distance between your bodies, eyes hooded, asking, “A lot?”

You nodded your head emphatically.

“Good.” He brought a hand to your neck, stretching his fingers behind your ear, leaning down to ghost his lips over yours.


End file.
